


Sanctuary

by Systemic



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: But Only a Little Bit - Freeform, Drabble, EMT Sawamura Daichi, Established Relationship, Fluff, Genderfluid Character, Genderfluid Sugawara Koushi, I'm pretty sure this is the softest thing I've ever written, Kissing, Mentioned Tsukishima Kei, Multi, Polyamory, angst in the flashbacks I guess?, passing mention of death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-06
Updated: 2020-12-06
Packaged: 2021-03-09 18:47:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,008
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27910996
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Systemic/pseuds/Systemic
Summary: “Kō, my love?”“Yes, Tetsu dear?”“Would you go and grab the blankets?”After a hard day, there are three things that never fail to make them feel better: snacks, time together, and good/bad movies.The last one depends on who you ask.
Relationships: Kuroo Tetsurou & Sawamura Daichi, Kuroo Tetsurou/Sawamura Daichi, Kuroo Tetsurou/Sawamura Daichi/Sugawara Koushi, Kuroo Tetsurou/Sugawara Koushi, Sawamura Daichi & Sugawara Koushi, Sawamura Daichi/Sugawara Koushi
Comments: 10
Kudos: 70





	Sanctuary

**Author's Note:**

> This started as a conversation with [Greeny](https://twitter.com/GreenyWrites) about Sawamura building forts with his little siblings to make them feel better and turned into this very, very soft polyship drabble. I hope it makes y'all feel warm and fuzzy inside. We could all use some of that nowadays. 
> 
> Suga uses they/he pronouns! 
> 
> CW for extremely vague mention of death in a flashback related to Daichi's work as an EMT. 
> 
> Come say hi on [twitter](https://twitter.com/SystemicWrites)!

Their phones buzz on the table in unison. Hazel eyes meet slate grey in silent acknowledgement of what that must mean. Sugawara is the first to move, reaching for their device to pull up the message they’ve both been waiting for. Kuroo shifts, the weight of Suga no longer against his shoulder, and pauses the baking show they’ve been watching together. 

“His shift’s over,” Suga’s tone lacks any relief or hopefulness, most likely mirroring the text they just read. 

Kuroo hums. “Think it was that bad?” 

“No emojis, and there’s a period at the end of the sentence.”

“Yikes.” 

“Mm.” 

The two of them sit there silently for a few moments. Suga looks down at their phone, Kuroo watches the stalled image of a British man on the television crying over cake. 

“Kō, my love?”

“Yes, Tetsu dear?”

“Would you go and grab the blankets?”

They share a conspiratorial glance and then they’re up, both of them moving in different directions. Kōshi heads for the bedroom upstairs. He grabs the massive duvet off their bed and then pauses at the hall closet to tug out the quilts kept for spring and fall. All of them get dragged back to the living room (along with a giant cat plushie that they kick unceremoniously down the stairs) with single-minded determination. Suga's tongue pokes out from between his lips with effort. 

  
  


The first time it happened was right after Suga was rejected from their first choice of college. They were crushed. It felt like all the work - all the studying, the exams, the interviews - had been for nothing, three years striving for a goal flushed down the proverbial toilet. He couldn’t bring himself to call either of his best friends, but he texted: _didn’t get it._

Twenty minutes later, their mother called them from downstairs. Daichi was there for a visit. 

Suga hauled themself out of bed and rubbed his red, swollen eyes, preparing to tell his love-him-like-more-than-a-brother best friend that he wasn’t up for company, that he would much rather sink into the earth than think about _what to do next._ That was always the thing with Daichi: _where do we go from here?_ And Suga loved that about him, really they did, but right then they didn’t want to think about where they were going. They wanted to take a day and wallow in where they would have gone, where they _wanted to go_ but couldn’t because the world had said ‘no.’

And when Daichi looked up from the bottom of the stairs, they almost couldn’t meet his eyes. They didn’t want to see the kindness in that gaze, the softness they knew their friend would be wearing, because they didn’t feel like they deserved it. Right then, they just wanted to be miserable and feel sorry for themself and pretend that they didn’t exist. 

But he met Daichi’s eyes. They were kind and soft and all the things he knew Daichi could be when it was warranted, when someone needed it. Even if Suga didn’t feel worthy just then, didn’t feel like they deserved that warmth when they were such a disappointment, their resolve to tell him to go crumbled into dust. Instead he waved to Daichi, who joined him on the stairs and then followed him to his room. The door shut behind them and Kōshi promptly turned and collapsed against him, only barely holding back the tears when two strong, comforting arms wrapped around them. 

The two of them stood like that for a minute, maybe more - it felt like too much and not enough, however long it was. Then Daichi carefully guided Suga to his bed, sat him on the floor, and began retrieving supplies. Snacks were pulled out of his bag (the spicy arare that Suga liked and Daichi hated, Pocky, ramune soda and a bottle of tea) and set in their lap. Suga looked down at them with brows drawn, then back up at Daichi, who was still moving. 

The desk chair was dragged over to his right, the cat’s scratching post a few feet to his left. One of the blankets from the bed was draped over both, creating a roof above his head, and one corner got tucked under the stack of textbooks on the desk. Daichi lowered himself into a crouch, peeked beneath the blanket with a little lopsided smile on his face, and then climbed under to sit beside them on the floor, their backs to the edge of the bed. 

After a few seconds of bewildered silence, one of those strong arms lifted to wrap around Suga. They were pulled into Daichi’s side and his hand guided their head to rest against his collar. He smelled like greenery and the mist that hangs around the mountains. He felt steady and constant as the earth that they had wanted so badly to sink into - that they still did, if it was him. If it would always be him. 

“It’s okay to not be okay,” he said, and then they fell apart. 

Suga cried. They cried until they felt sick, then cried until they felt better, then cried until they felt exhausted. He cried until he was empty and thought that he would never be able to cry again, not from sadness or joy or weariness or anything else. They cried until Daichi’s shirt was well past damp and when Kōshi finally pulled back and went to apologize, they hiccuped instead, surprising both of them. 

And then they laughed - the two of them, together. Suga knew his face was red and tear-streaked, his voice was raspy and he probably looked like some snot-nosed brat, but it didn’t matter. It was okay. _They_ were okay - or they would be, eventually. He would get into a different school and someday he would make everyone proud to have helped him along the way. Eventually, he would even be proud of himself. 

But for the moment, for right then, they could be not-okay with Daichi in the little world he had built around them, could eat snacks and watch bad movies on his phone until it ran out of power. And if he was so comfortable that he dozed off against that warm, solid shoulder, no one besides the two of them had to know.

  
  


By the time Suga gets back downstairs, Kuroo has assembled the dining room chairs. They move the coffee table together. It gets scooted to one side of the living room to get it off the carpet so they can start laying the couch cushions out in a grid on the floor. The chairs get stationed at the four corners and Kuroo pauses on his way to the other room to wrap his arms wordlessly around his partner, briefly cherishing the plush roundness of their stomach and the silkiness of their silver hair against his chin, the softness of their purple sweater. Suga hums contentedly, leans back into his solid chest in wordless appreciation until he pats their hip to signal his departure. 

In the kitchen, Kuroo starts pulling things from cupboards and the fridge: the prawn chips that he hates, the gummy candies Suga can’t stand the texture of. A bag of popcorn joins the ranks, just for good measure. He spends a full minute debating over beer, sake, or tea, and eventually goes with all three. Everything gets assembled on a massive tray before he heads back towards the living room, already thinking about what movie to suggest. 

  
  


The first time it happened, Kuroo was face-down on his twin bed in his college apartment, just twenty-one years old and feeling like his life was over. He had a _plan -_ ‘had’ being the operative word - and then it all went terribly awry. The internship was a huge opportunity, a cancer research program that would have been helping people _and_ a giant gold star on his resume when he started applying to labs. Close to school. Working with doctors he respected. It was _absolutely_ perfect… except that he hadn’t been picked for it.

That was normally the type of thing he could get over. Not shrug off, exactly, because he cared a lot more than people thought he did - than he _let them think_ he did. 

But it was also only two weeks after Tsukishima had left to study in England. 

Tetsurō had told himself it was foolish, getting that worked up over a high school crush leaving the country. He had told himself that the fifteen text messages and emails he had drafted in the months prior to express his feelings had been deleted for a reason - that Tsukki deserved Oxford and that Oxford was fucking lucky to have him. That someday he would be back, and then--

And then what? Because the plan was for Kuroo to have a job at a biotech lab by then, designing affordable prosthetics for people that needed them, but suddenly the plan was _ruined._ The logical part of his brain knew that that was oversimplifying it, it wasn’t so melodramatic, but that part of his brain had been forcibly sent on an unpaid vacation while the emotional part of him threw a thunderstorm of a pity party. Dark clouds practically hovered over his head.

Lightning struck in the form of the front door opening and a low voice carrying through his apartment that said _I’m home._

He didn’t have it in him to call back. Even thinking about the way his voice would crack was mortifying, so he kept his face firmly rooted in his pillow and pretended he was somewhere else. He mused that maybe it was raining in England just like it was in his head, then felt worse immediately after the thought flitted through his mind. Quiet, heavy footsteps made their way down the hall and paused outside his door. He flinched even though the knocks were barely audible. The playlist he had going at a low volume moved to the next Sarah McLaughlin song and the footsteps continued down the hall, allowing him to relax. 

Ten minutes later, the door to his room swung open, no knocks for permission this time. Kuroo refused to look up in acknowledgement - though admittedly, he was being more evasive than stubborn. Instead he grumbled something incomprehensible and listened as movement started happening around him, the shifting of fabric and tiny grunts of effort, the crinkle of packaging. It was the screeching of his desk chair’s legs scraping against the floor that finally did it, forcing him to push himself up with his hands and look towards the source of the racket. 

“Sa’amura, if I wanted feng shui advice right now, don’t you think I’d--” 

The protest died in his throat when he found Daichi stringing up his own blanket, one corner of the navy fabric tied to the desk itself and another fastened around the back of the chair, a third being secured to a bedpost. He glanced up from what he was doing - nonchalant, like he wasn’t in another dude’s room setting up a blanket fort. 

“Thought we could watch Pride and Prejudice,” he said and Kuroo felt something in his chest squeeze. 

“The five-hour version?” 

Daichi took a deep, deep breath through his nose, closed his eyes, and exhaled with the resolve of a man on his way to an execution. 

“Sure. The five-hour version.”

“You hate that one,” Kuroo pointed out in a voice that was very, very small. 

“You don’t,” Daichi said and if he saw the moisture gathering in the corners of Kuroo’s eyes, he didn’t comment. Instead he climbed into the blanket fort and waited for his lanky friend to join him with his laptop, to pull up one of his bootleg files and draw his knees to his chest in a way that was reminiscent of a time when he wasn’t ninety percent leg. He didn’t groan when the almost painfully grainy image panned up over a field and period music started filtering out of the speakers. 

He didn’t say anything when Kuroo’s head found his shoulder or when the whole weight of him leaned over, seeking comfort from a stout, sturdy frame. Instead, he lifted an arm and wrapped it around his secretly-soft-hearted friend and held him while he grieved. 

And if Kuroo finally perked up at the _Mr. Darcy pond scene,_ he didn’t say anything about that, either. 

  
  


The comforter gets bunched up at the edge of the couch cushions while the quilts are draped over the chairs, all with relative ease. It’s a process that both of them have become familiar with and can do almost wordlessly (except that it’s Tetsurō and Kōshi, so naturally there is ribbing and sass over who is better with their hands). They have enough time to add string lights and tie the center point to the fixture on the ceiling above it, vaulting the roof of the fort like a circus tent. It might not be magazine-worthy, but it at least belongs on Instagram; Kuroo photographs it for later, but tucks his phone away when the front door opens and a familiar voice carries from down the hall. 

“I’m home,” Daichi calls and the exhaustion in his low timbre is immediately evident, the dragging of his spirit beside the duffel he sets down on the genkan. Kuroo and Suga exchange glances from across the living room and then go to greet him. When he looks up they both ache to erase the bags under his eyes and the creases between his brows that write the story of the shift he’s had. 

“Welcome home,” says Suga and Kuroo offers a quiet smile beside them, about six shades softer than his usual shit-eating grin. Daichi looks at them both in turn, sees the concern veiled by their gentle expressions and offers one of his own in response, a world-weary smile that doesn’t reach his tired eyes. Suga holds out his arms; Kuroo does the same and flexes his fingers towards himself: _c’mere._

Daichi hauls himself up onto the wood floor in his sock feet, wobbles over to his partners and doesn’t stop to consider who to hug first. Instead, he crashes into them both and they let him, two sets of arms wrapping around his stocky frame to keep him close. Tetsurō rubs a hand along his back between his shoulder blades. Kōshi kisses his temple. Daichi breathes in the both of them, breathes in his home, and lets the day wash away. 

  
  


The first time it happened was the first time _it_ happened. He had trained for it - it was an inevitability, working as an EMT. People die in ambulances. It’s an absolute truth of the job and he’d gone into it knowing that. 

_But still._

It was the end of his first week on the job. He went to that call in the middle of the day and then to a few others and then he spent a half hour in the showers at dispatch, watching water run down the drain long after it had come away clear. He dressed in fresh clothes, skin scrubbed pink and stinging when the winter wind outside whipped against his face and hands. His car was freezing. He sat in it for a long time while he considered what to tell them - his husband and his boyfriend, who were waiting for him at home. 

What was he supposed to say? How did he explain? What could encapsulate the cloying darkness that he was fighting to keep himself together under the weight of? 

After a while - too long, maybe - he sent a simple message to them both: _we lost someone._

And when he got home a half hour later, he found them waiting for him in the front hall, just like this: faces soft, eyes kind, arms held open. They led him to the living room, to a clumsy, awkward blanket fort slouching at one side and built with mismatched furniture, a life pieced together out of three separate collections. Suga helped him off with his jacket and Kuroo took his bag and then the three of them climbed in under the comforter. 

Daichi stayed stony-faced until Suga held him to their chest and told him it was okay to not be okay, until he felt the comforting warmth of Kuroo against his back and those long, familiar arms around him. He kept it together right up until the moment he fell to pieces, defeated and heartbroken and hurting and so, so powerless in the face of everything. He cried and Tetsurō held him tighter; he sobbed and Kōshi kissed the top of his head, combed their graceful fingers through his dark hair. He wept and nobody hushed him, no one told him that everything would be okay. 

They stayed like that until he had no tears left and then a while longer, until his breathing had evened out and his hold on their hands had loosened. Suga ordered from his favorite takeout place. Kuroo put on _Porco Rosso._ They pulled out pajamas and then they sat there, the three of them, shoulder to shoulder and then strewn across each other’s laps and then laying in a heap, watching cartoons until the world outside their little sanctuary disappeared. 

  
  


And they do it now, too. They hold him in the front hall and he closes his eyes when he tilts his head up for a kiss (Suga and Kuroo take turns with this part, who gets the first kiss, and he never knows who it will be until he smells the former’s sweet orange perfume or the latter’s ‘fresh linen’ aftershave). Kōshi helps him off with his jacket and Testu takes his bag and then the three of them pile into their fort together. 

There’s no tears this time. They lay in a heap anyways, basking in the soft glow of fairy lights. They savor the warmth of the home and family they’ve built and cherish the simple comfort of snacks and blanket forts and the love that they share between them. 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading!! :D Comments seriously make my day so pls let me know if you enjoyed!


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